The Heir of De Sade I: Sorcerer's Stone
by LordAnguis
Summary: The Wizarding World has enjoyed a relatively peaceful ten years since the destruction of Voldemort. Now, as the Dark Lord's vanquisher arrives for his first year at Hogwarts, a new darkness rises on the unsuspecting wizarding world. Used to crime syndicates and fanatical cults, the Wizarding World is unprepared for the darkness that now stalks the halls of Hogwarts School...
1. Chapter 1: The Long-Awaited Day

_**Disclaimer: "No, your honor, I am not J.K. Rowling. I am a simple man with a great imagination who sometimes needs to de-stress by using established characters from other writers as a sounding board. And as much as I'd like to get 20 dollars for every person who has read my work, I do not get monetary compensation nor should I. Am I free to go?" (In other words, I don't own Harry Potter, and if you somehow believe otherwise, you're more deranged than my Evil Harry's are)**_

_**A/N: For those new to this fic, this is a revised and updated version of Chapter 1. I came to the realization that, in comparison to "New Order: Rise", this fic was hardly worth the effort of reading, much less writing. Also, if you're just beginning to read this, be warned this fic is NOT going to have Voldemort in it. He died on October 31, 1981 in this fic and he did NOT have Horcruxes. This is an AU fic, and therefore should be treated as such. **_

_**To those who were following this story before, I hope you'll find the new versions of each chapter satisfactory, as well as the remainder of the story. Now, on to the story. For the record, Hermione is an antagonistic force in this fic, so she will not be shown in a good light. However, there will not be as much bashing as there was. In this, Hermione will give as good as she gets and actually be a true antagonist rather than the only reason for her eventual fate being she's annoying Harry. **_

_**Also, for Brit-pickers out there, I do my best to use British terms, but it has been a LONG time since I watched any television show where those aspects of British society are prominent (Inspector Morse, Inspector Lewis, and the like). So if I've screwed up, I do apologize. I did look up terms, but as far as roles, I am clueless since I'm not British. **_

The Heir of De Sade I:

Sorcerer's Stone

By

DraconLord

Chapter One:

The Long-Awaited Day

The town in which Harry Potter had been exiled ten years ago by unknown individuals was called Little Whinging, and it truly lived up to its name. It was a most normal society of people, very little complaints about the state of affairs in the nation of Great Britain. After all, what was there to complain about? Each and every person living in Little Whinging contributed to their society, none of them were on the dole, and they all possessed reasonably respectable careers which were reflected in the state of their homes and in their manner of conveyance. Yes, Little Whinging was a truly boring town no matter how you looked at it, but as of late, there had been an increase in abnormal occurrences. Now, many of you are likely thinking this has something to do with Harry Potter and his heritage, but you are only partially correct. To illustrate what is meant perfectly, you will join Police Constable Devin Bentley of the Little Whinging police force on his beat, the morning of June 10, 1991, nearly two months before young Harry Potter would learn the truth of his heritage, despite what he had uncovered prior to this moment.

PC Bentley would hardly be considered a prime example of police intellect and investigational prowess, and he unfortunately represented the more intelligent crowd of the Little Whinging police force. In a town where very little happened beyond the odd vandalism which was usually caught by the incredibly nosy residents of the suburban neighborhoods that comprised the majority of the town, there wasn't much call for a true investigative force, much less a need for the presence of a police officer that had the caliber of, say, a Scotland Yard investigator, or at least a detective inspector trained by them. Bentley's patrol often took him through Little WHinging Park, and it was on this very day, a day that would seem ordinary to anyone else, that Bentley would make a gruesome discovery through the most random of circumstances that would cause a great deal of consternation, not to mention shock and horror, among the population of Little Whinging who were unaware of the true depravity one could sink to, even at a young age.

The Little Whinging Park had all the amenities one needed to successfully watch young children, except for one minor inconvenience due to the close proximity of so many homes. That inconvenience was what led Bentley to make the Grisly Discovery, as it would become known to the residents of Little Whinging. There was no public bathroom, and as he moved through the empty park on his patrol (it was nearing evening, and therefore no residents were currently in the park), he found that his bladder was unusually full. He had stopped at a pub during lunch and had a small drink, but he doubted it was that; no, it was more likely the energy drink he had been drinking along the way. This was not the first time this had occurred, and so he knew exactly where to go. He often went to a specific place in the park to relieve himself, away from prying eyes, and not frequented even by the rebellious teens of the town.

Entering his little hideaway, inside a copse of trees, Bentley found himself stumbling across a scene that would forever haunt his mind; not only the sight of it, but the _smell_ of it. A pair of freshly killed animals lay on the ground. He recognized the animals as a pair of squirrels known to run and skitter about the playground, as a source of endless amusement for the young children. Both animals had been filleted open, their bodies cut open and removed from the bones, their guts in a pile near the trunk of a tree.

Bentley was not a veteran of any conflict, nor was he a hardened city cop or an investigator from Scotland Yard. He was a street bobby whose most difficult cases tended to be vandalism. As such, it was not unlikely to assume that the man would react to the scene in a fashion that any normal human who is not used to such scenes of gore would. He leaned against another tree even as the bile rose in his throat and vomited into the bushes, only to discover another unfortunate victim, as well as an unfortunate side effect of vomiting. Firstly, the new victim was a cat, similarly mutilated, but it seemed as though it had remained unfinished.

The side effect from vomiting while having a full bladder is known to those who have experienced it first hand. When one forcefully vomits, one loses control of not only the bladder but the bowels as well, and if there is even a _tiny_ amount of refuse, it will escape. And so it was that as Devin Bentley all but projectile-vomited from the grisly discovery, he also became the unfortunate sap who discovered what it truly is to shit your pants and piss all of yourself, a state of being that is normally reserved for the invalid, whether they be old or young.

PC Bentley's attention, consumed as it was in emptying his stomach while trying unsuccessfully to control his bowels, did not take note of the figure of a scrawny boy who had begun to enter the small clearing, only to duck out of sight upon spotting PC Bentley. The shock of black hair, wild and untameable even to the most formidable of hair gels, pulled away from the forehead to reveal a thin scar, shaped like lightning and still looking as though it were merely weeks old rather than years, at which point it should have turned white with a little bit of color. Beneath the scar, cold and hard as the emeralds that they resembled, the boy's eyes watched the bobby empty his stomach before leaving quietly, with barely a whisper of air. He would need to find another, more private place for his indulgences, then. Clearly, his preferred spot was taken by a man with uncontrollable bladder issues, despite there having been no evidence of such previously.

For the next month, it was all anyone could talk about, to the point that a Scotland Yard investigator was sent down to briefly look over the evidence. He recommended that they consider the possibility of a child being the culprit, and was instantly hounded out of the city by the police and by the citizens for daring to impugn the honor of the children of Little Whinging, who were of course little angels and could not have done such a thing. Still, all anyone could talk about, even in the privacy of their homes, was what could have happened and, more importantly for the gossips of all the neighborhoods, who could have done this.

It was the talk of all the houses, that is, but for one. Number 4, Privet Drive was the home of the Dursley family. Mr. Vernon Dursley, an executive manager at the firm Grunnings that had numerous contracts with construction companies across Britain, was a robust man with a mustache, which he frequently stroked believing it made him impressive or intimidating. Unfortunately, many in the neighborhood knew the man was not as intimidating as he believed, but a weakling and a coward who used his size to his advantage and blustered his way through any and all confrontations. The shrewish Petunia Dursley, Vernon's wife, was seen as being a wonderful mother, despite her unfortunate looks, as she not only raised her own son, but that of her drunken whore of a sister and the good-for-nothing wastrel she had run off with, who had probably been the one to make her into a drunken whore in the first place. At least, that was the story that was bandied about the neighborhood as it made for a far better tale.

As for the children being raised in Number 4, they were decidedly different in not only size, but disposition. Dudley Dursley was robust, like his father, with his mother's blonde hair, making him look like a little darling to many in the community. He struggled with his schooling, and on occasion his frustration would make itself known in small instances of fighting with other kids from the primary school. The teachers at Little Whinging Primary were quite understanding, knowing that such boys often felt the pressure, especially when they had a sibling, or in this case a cousin, in the same class who excelled where they failed.

Harry Potter was athletic for a pre-teen, and could often be seen jogging around in the early morning hours, often receiving the post for Number 4 from the friendly mailman. He was a voracious reader, consuming knowledge in the library as fast as he could. As he never checked anything out, but simply sat and read throughout the day, Harry's choice of reading material never made it to the discerning eyes of the desk clerk, and therefore would never have raised concern. Even if they had, Harry would simply say it was because of the chore he most often helped his aunt with, and as she would confirm he worked such a chore, most would find it fine and therefore not say another word, ignoring the books on human biology because that _was_ a class that was taught at Little Whinging Primary, however briefly, to prepare the students for the more advanced class at Stonewall High, the local secondary school that Harry was likely to be attending beginning next year. He was the top of his class, and his closest rivals were only able to come to close to him in a smattering of topics, whereas he had managed to top them all. Many considered him a prodigy and a genius, and he allowed them to think that. They were easier to manipulate that way.

But of course, the Dursley family knew exactly why the animals had been killed in that fashion, and by whom. Their nephew, for all his outward perfection and charm, was a known monster within the Dursley home, a monster that they feared being unleashed since the boy had gained control over his unnatural gifts, gifts he had inherited from his parents. Vernon had been unable to control the monster, and therefore he and his family did all they could to appease it, as, with the powers the monster controlled within their home, there was no way to prove what it had done to them or what it could do if they angered it.

Harry had learned of his gifts, his _power_, at an early age and explored it in secret. He had appeared to be normal, and therefore the Dursleys had slowly but hesitantly accepted him as there were no outbursts the likes of which Petunia had seen her dastardly sister commit. Only, once the Dursleys had become complacent and even begun to warm to the boy, young Harry revealed his power and forced the answers from his relatives about what he was, as he kenw they had some inkling. Discovering that their was a society of people like him, and that his mother had had a natural control over some of her own powers, a control that she had expanded with the help of a neighboring wizard, who Petunia only referred to venomously as "that _Snape_ boy, was intriguing to say the least.

But he doubted many wizards and witches could use the gifts he could; he doubted many could control serpents, and that there were few who could keep animals still and silent as he slowly killed them. He allowed the animals very little sound, primarily because the little sound they did make was something he found enjoyable. In his readings, he had found a mention of people labeled as sexual sadists, and he found he fit many of the so-called symptoms. Harry scoffed at the idea that he was sick, even in the head; no, people just didn't know what it meant to have power. He hoped the wizarding world had some inkling, otherwise he would become very bored, very quickly. As the two squirrels and Mr. Tibbles could attest, a bored Harry Potter was a very dangerous Harry Potter.

On the morning of 24 July, 1991, a Wednesday, Harry Potter's slender fingers expertly handled the kitchen knife as he cut the pound of ham from the market into strips of bacon for his family. While he controlled the Dursleys with the fear of his powers, Harry had a liking for making breakfast for the family, if only because it gave an outward sign of normalcy to the people of Privet Drive and backed up his excuse should his choice of reading material ever come into question. Idly wondering if he would hear from the Wizarding school his aunt had mentioned, or if he would simply have to continue learning to control his powers via his imagination and simple exercise of them, Harry fixed up the usual morning fare.

As the Dursleys and Harry were finishing their morning meal, a brown barn owl came fluttering in through the window, causing Petunia to shriek. The owl ignored the reaction and landed in front of Harry, who put his cup down and took the letter from the bird. "Wait for a moment," he said sharply to the bird, before opening the letter. Reading it through, he raised his eyebrows as he saw the book and supply list, and a welcoming letter, but otherwise no instructions. Turning the letter over, he demanded a pen and envelope from his Uncle Vernon, who handed them over as fast as he could (it took about a minute, during which the owl and Harry both gained an air of impatience). Harry wrote out a quick response and questions, and folded the letter up. Addressing the envelope to Professor M. McGonagall, Hogwarts School, he gave the letter to the owl, which took off promptly and with a bit of an attitude. Harry wondered if perhaps he had failed to do something for the owl, but couldn't be bothered to figure out what.

That evening, in a castle in the highlands of Scotland, a stern-looking witch dressed in emerald green robes looked over the acceptance letters from wizard-born students, having just returned from a long day of guiding new Muggle-born students on their first tour of Diagon Alley. Among them had been a young girl named Hermione Granger, who was quite intelligent and seemed frightfully obedient to those in authority, though why that was, Minerva McGonagall could not fathom. Perhaps the girl had simply been raised to respect those in authority by her parents and this was a by-product. The girl would not be the first to have such a mentality, and those students often became prefect and then Head Boy and Girl; the current favorites among the staff for Head Boy and Girl of the 1993-94 school year, two years from now, were Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater, who had the mentality of Ms. Granger about both authority and schoolwork.

Coming across one letter, Minerva's arched eyebrows rose slightly as she took in the Muggle style envelope, and the neat, yet spidery penmanship that addressed the letter to her. Opening the envelope, she found the acceptance letter, and turned her attention to who it was addressed. Feeling some sense of relief upon spotting the name, Minerva was happy to see that the boy had received his letter with no trouble. But why had he sent his acceptance letter back? Had he decided not to attend? Turning the letter over, Minerva was startled and relieved to find that Mr. Potter's reply was on the back of the acceptance letter.

_Professor McGonagall, _the letter began, _I appreciate the chance to take up my place at Hogwarts School, and will gladly accept my enrollment. However, my letter seems to be missing a few crucial details. Firstly, where do I purchase my supplies? I doubt I can purchase most of these things at the local market. Secondly, how am I supposed to get to Hogwarts? Do you have some form of magical transportation, or are we supposed to puzzle it out like wizards do in non-magical fiction? I'd appreciate any information you can give me, and look forward to learning from you. _It was signed H. Potter.

Minerva looked at the time and sighed. It was almost 7 p.m., and most Diagon Alley shops closed around 8. Not nearly enough time to get to Little Whinging, explain everything to Mr. Potter, and take him shopping. No, it would have to wait for tomorrow. But as for tonight, well, it seemed a certain headmaster would need a good stiff talking to, since he had placed the boy with the Muggles, who had clearly not done as the headmaster had asked and informed the boy as to the major aspects of his heritage, including the location of Diagon Alley and the platform from which the Hogwarts Express would depart.

The next morning, Minerva appeared in Arabella Figg's living room, looking very Muggle for a woman of her apparent age. Appearing to be in her late forties or fifties, Minerva McGonagall would likely be assumed to have grown up in an age where one did not wear some of the clothing items that Muggles today wore, and she showed her knowledge of this by arriving at Arabella's not in her usual robes, but in a muggle dress and blouse not uncommon for women her age to wear, especially those who entered the educational system. "Good morning, Arabella," Minerva said, seeing the woman sitting in her chair, looking at that absurd photo album again. About to leave, Minerva stopped, frowning, and turned back. There were four Kneazles wandering around, where their should have been five. Of course, Mr. Tibbles, despite his intelligence, was an ordinary cat, but where was he? "Arabella? Is everything alright?" Minerva realized that the other woman seemed depressed.

"Oh, it's nothing, Minerva," Arabella said. "You have a job to do, you don't need to listen to me yammer on about a personal issue."

"Arabella, we weren't just part of the Order, we were friends," Minerva said sternly. "Now, tell me, what's going on?" Arabella broke, telling Minerva about the Grisly Discovery of the month before and how the Muggles had dismissed the investigator's claims about it being a child. "Mr. Tibbles didn't deserve what happened," Arabella said, looking exhausted as she finished sobbing with a hiccup, "and these Muggles want to ignore the possibility."

"I hope they find out who did it, Arabella, for your sake," Minerva replied, and after a few more minutes of talking, the two women parted and Minerva walked over to Privet Drive, knocking sharply on the front door of Number 4. Light footsteps preceded the door opening, and Minerva was greeted by a younger James Potter, though his face was more angular, almost elven, and the emerald eyes held none of the mischief that James Potter had had. "Mr. Potter, I am Professor McGonagall. May I come in?"

"Sure, professor, but you didn't have to come to answer a couple of questions," Harry said, opening the door wider and allowing the older witch to enter. The Dursleys had gone out for the day to the zoo, an activity that neither thrilled Harry nor held his interest, beyond perhaps using his ability to get the animals to scare the people, but that would be a bit too obvious, even for him. As for McGonagall suddenly showing up on his doorstep, he found it quite odd, since he didn't think the questions he asked warranted a visit from the Deputy Headmistress of the School. The two took a seat in the living room of the Dursley home, and Harry looked expectantly at the professor.

Minerva, for her part, said, "Due to your letter, Mr. Potter, I had to assume that your relatives have told you little to nothing about not only the magical world, but your place in it."

"Not really," Harry agreed. "They said Mum and Dad were a witch and wizard, but nothing about what they did or how they died. They kept saying they died in a car crash, drunk, but I don't see how a magical person could die in such a normal way."

"As much as we like to think ourselves gods, Mr. Potter," Minerva said sadly, "we are not. Witches and wizards have been killed by Muggle means in the past, but your parents were not killed in such a fashion. Almost twenty years ago, a wizard who was known only as Voldemort, a name many still fear to say because of his power, began to terrorize the wizarding world. The headmaster organized a group from the brightest and most powerful witches and wizards of the age to fight against him, among them your parents. Ten years ago on Halloween, Voldemort tracked them down. From all reports, your parents fought to the last, trying to get you to safety, but he killed them before they could make their escape. He tried to kill you, though no one knows why beyond his madness. Something happened that night, perhaps because it was Samhain, or perhaps because of something your parents did. But whatever the reason, Voldemort's curse, which had taken many, rebounded on him and destroyed him, leaving you with just a single scar. The one on your forehead. That scar is known in the wizarding world, and you are considered something of a celebrity."

"If I'm such a big name in the wizarding world, why wasn't I brought up there?" Harry demanded to know, though he worded it politely.

"There were many who followed Voldemort who managed to get off on all charges through bribery and other means," Minerva said carefully. "You were brought to the Muggle world, to your mother's sister, for your own protection."

"Did I have godparents?" Harry asked, and his magic influenced the conversation for the first time. Minerva, despite her ability keep her emotions tightly bound, could not help but answer.

"You did, but neither of them were able to take you," Minerva replied. "It was intended to have your godmother raise you after the hubbub died down, but she and her husband were incapacitated by a group of Voldemort's most fanatical followers. As for your godfather. . . . he was convicted of turning your family's location over to Voldemort as well as murdering countless muggles the day after Voldemort's defeat. Many would not wish you to know this, Mr. Potter, but you deserve to know. Many of the Death Eaters had children, and it would not be beneath them to use this information against you."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied quietly. After a few more minutes of discussion, during which Minerva explained about Diagon Alley and the Hogwarts Express, the two left. Hours later, Harry had collected several books and other supplies for his upcoming year at Hogwarts. But his finest acquisition had been from Gringotts, who Professor McGonagall had explained Harry's situation to. The acquisition was a wizarding portrait of his parents, last updated a week prior to their deaths. The portrait would be able to teach Harry about things like politics, and was not allowed to withhold information via familial magic, a much stronger magic, as the goblins had explained, than even the bond of servitude between house-elves and their wizarding masters.

He had yet to activate the portrait, but decided he would do so now, if only to get an idea of who his parents had been. He knew from talking with Professor McGonagall during the shopping trip that his father had been a prankster at school and grew to be a formidable duelist as a member of Dumbledore's little group. His mother had primarily been working on Potions for the group, though she was no slouch in dueling either if McGonagall could be believed. Harry had asked about his mother's friend, the 'Snape boy' Aunt Petunia had mentioned. Professor McGonagall had admitted to having forgotten they had been friends and informed him that _Professor_ Severus Snape was the current Potions Master at Hogwarts School, and warned him that the man tolerated no misbehavior, and _especially _didn't tolerate ill-preparedness. Harry took that to heart and decided he would learn all he could about Potions, and owl for more books if needed. One of his acquisitions was a black-feathered Eagle Owl, which he had called Morgana after one of his favorite magical characters in fiction (which he now learned was the true name of Morgan le Fey, a powerful witch from the times of Camelot).

Setting the portrait up in his room (which was much more utilitarian than the Dursleys' bedrooms or the guest room which was frequented by Aunt Marge, whose sadistic nature rivaled Harry's), Harry said, "Awaken," the simple command he had been given by the Goblin. The portraits occupants became more lifelike, and began moving about, taking in their surroundings.

"This looks like a Muggle house," James Potter said, glancing around.

"That's because it _is_ a Muggle house," Harry said drily, an amused smirk flitting onto his face briefly before replacing it with his preferred emotionless mask. "You're in my room, to be exact. Mother, Father. Nice to finally meet you in person."

"Harry?" James asked, and Harry raised his eyebrows.

"You got another son I don't know about?"

"Well, to be fair, last time we saw you, you were a baby," Lily pointed out fairly. "Why are you in a Muggle house? Did Sirius decide to live in the Muggle world?"

"Sirius Black is rotting in Azkaban Prison for his crimes," Harry said stiffly, his face becoming hard, "and if he somehow manages to worm his way out, I'll take great pleasure in killing him myself for betraying my family."

"No, Sirius couldn't, _wouldn't_ betray us," James denied.

"He was tried and convicted after he murdered several people, including a wizard named Peter Pettigrew," Harry said, having learned about this from the Goblins. "Apparently, Peter's final words were 'Lily and James, Sirius, how could you?' before Black obliterated him."

"I-I can't believe it," James mumbled. If he had been human, he would have fainted by now. As a portrait, he had to feel the small remnant of human emotion, this one being that of shock and horror.

"As for my godmother, Professor McGonagall said she was attacked, along with her husband, only days later and is unable to even recognize her own son, much less me," Harry continued, rather callously. He didn't need to pander to the dead. "Anyways, I figured I ought to wake you up, tell you what's happened, since apparently I need a guide for some things. My _lovely_ aunt and uncle have been quite unaccommodating when it comes to information about the wizarding world. Out of curiosity, Mother, why did Professor McGonagall say you had a falling out with the Snape boy, as Aunt Petunia calls him?"

"You're living with Tuney?" Lily asked, eyebrows raising and a hint of steel in her voice. At Harry's nod, she asked, "Whose bright idea was that?"

"The Headmaster's apparently," Harry replied, and saw both his parents scowl. "What?"

"The headmaster is a great man, but he never had the guts to do more than react to Voldemort," James replied. "Countless lives could've been saved, but because of his victory over Grindlewald, which ended with the other's surrender, he seems to think that Dark wizards that fall into that mentality can all be redeemed in some fashion or another. I don't know why, but he made a lot of mistakes. Your mother and I might've followed his lead, but we didn't trust him completely."

"Right," Harry said, mulling that over. "Anyways, the question I asked?"

"Severus and I were friends, but as time went on, he started behaving more like other members of Slytherin at the time, obsessed with blood purity and eventually, he called me a mudblood," Lily said. At Harry's look, she explained, "It's an insult that's used to anger Muggle-borns. It suggests they're common, dirty, unclean. I had tried to hard to stay friends with him, but I could tell he was going down a dark path, and that he would end up no good. So I broke our friendship off."

"Then you must not be as smart as people say you were," Harry shot back, irritated but also gratified that his intelligence was not hereditary but something that he himself had brought about. "Severus Snape is now a premier Potions Master and teaches at Hogwarts under Headmaster Dumbledore. Clearly, he's not as much of a waste as you and, if McGoagall was telling the truth, Father thought."

Harry's parents looked conflicted, as though this meeting was not going as they thought it should. Harry shook his head and said, "I've got some studying to do. I'll talk to you tomorrow about these political issues I need to know about before I go to Hogwarts. Sleep," he commanded, and the portrait shut down.

_**A/N: Bleh, this chapter got away from me. It's half the size of MEGA CHAPTER, from Rise. Oh, well. I hope I don't start churning THOSE out… (whimpers at the thought) My poor brain…. Okay, just joking. **_

_**Anyways, I won't be updating this chapter until I've finished all of the chapters to update them. So when you see this, you can keep reading. . . .**_


	2. Chapter 2: Aboard the Hogwarts Express

_**A/N: The first part of this chapter is from Hermione's perspective, in order to get an idea of who she is rather than just making her an annoying little bint like she was originally. Then we'll get to the train ride, which will also be different. I am incorporating some suggestions from the reviewer "Man of Constant Sorrow", though this will never be a Harmony fic simply because it doesn't jive with the main aspect of this fic. However, what is seen in this fic will pave the way for a future fic based around a Dark Harmony romance, if all goes well. Until then, I hope this new and improved Hermione, and her relationship to Harry, will be acceptable. **_

Chapter Two:

Aboard the Hogwarts Express

The Granger home, located in the upper-class Kensington neighborhoods of London, was one among many almost uniform homes, all shoved together much like one would expect. Unlike the rundown Grimmauld Place area of London, Kensington was facing a boom of tenants who were at least semi-wealthy and held places in high society. Some would consider the Grangers, who were both dentists, to not fit this position, but the fact of the matter was, the Grangers client list included several influential people in the British government, and Mr. Granger was known to have worked for the government in some capacity at one time. There was talk that he was truthfully an MI-6 agent, as he would often disappear for weeks on end, but he always had a legitimate excuse, and his wife almost always went with him. The few times she didn't, well, it was not unheard of for a man with such pull to have a mistress on the side.

The Grangers were among the cream of the crop in Kensington society and attended the many high society activities throughout the years. Of course, they also kept up with all the traditions and fads being brought into play, and amongst these, around 10 years previous, had been having a single child who would become as prestigious as they would. As such, they had committed to having a child, and prepared the life of the child well in advance. Nine months later, young Hermione Granger was born. From an early age, Hermione had a nanny (or governess, as the Grangers insisted the young woman be called). The first governess, Adele Greengrass, was supposedly from a high-class family herself, though she admitted her parents did not agree with her career choice. As such, she was not used by many, but she seemed to have a connection with young Hermione.

As Hermione grew older, there were things that didn't quite make sense that occurred when the young girl was either excited or angry. Books would float to her, candles would suddenly flare up, sometimes catching drapes on fire. The governess, Adele Greengrass, revealed her own abilities only to Hermione and helped to cover up the trouble where she could, going so far as to wipe the mind of whoever witnessed these events, including the Grangers on occasion until they were more able to accept their daughter. Finally, Adele had used her magic to make them more amenable permanently, not with a spell, but with a potion. However, even this could not cover up the rage of Jean Granger whe she heard her daughter, in hearing range of several high society women she was having over for afternoon tea, call Adele Greengrass 'mummy'.

Ms. Greengrass was summarily dismissed from her position, and a new governess was brought in. This one, a rather unpleasant woman by the name of Gladys Umbridge, had made it very clear to Hermione that there would be no fun and games, but work. She was meant for greatness, Gladys would say, and that meant she needed to be ready for everything and she wouldn't be able to do that if Gladys treated her with kid gloves. Hermione tried often to connect with her parents, but it soon became crystal clear what she was to them. One night, unable to sleep, she had snuck down to the living room only to overhear her parents.

Her father, Ian Granger, had said, "I hope Hermione lives up to our expectations, Jean. I'd hate if we had been doing all this for her and she turned out to be just some common girl who can't be bothered to advance herself. Worse, we'd be made a laughing stock in society. The Goldstein's son is excelling, and so is the Finch-Fletchley boy, and neither of them have had issues with their kids like we've had with Hermione. I hope she's not challenged in the head, or something."

"Well, if she is, we can always drop her in the orphanage and try again," her mother had replied, and the pit that had been carved out of Hermione's tender young heart was filled with cement. Over the next few years, Hermione moved beyond her parents expectations and they were soon bragging about their wonderful, intelligent daughter and how their new governess had inspired her to do better than their previous one had. Hermione never forgot Adele, but she knew she could not contact her, nor find her again unless things changed. That time of change came just as school was ending in June of 1991, when a stern-looking woman appeared in their neighborhood and revealed that she was the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which would help Hermione control her gifts even further than she already had done. Hermione's parents, of course, had been more concerned with the types of career choices Hermione would have, and if they would intersect with the Muggle world at all so that they could be talked about without a concern of secrecy.

Professor McGonagall had explained that many of the career choices Hogwarts graduates had were able to translate over into the Muggle world in some capacity or another, from law enforcement on up to the political hemisphere. The Ministry of Magic, she revealed, was considered a part of the British Ministry itself, and listed as a working with the Department of the Interior under the designation Department X. Department X was known to have churned out some of the more successful politicians in the Muggle world, and therefore the Grangers had elected to put all their efforts into making sure their daughter was prepared for her new world, changing their plans slightly. One thing that both the Grangers had shown their caring for Hermione in was their refusal to sell her off to some boy at a later date. They preferred that they showed the high society what a woman could do if she put her mind to it.

So it was that on the morning of September 1, 1991, Hermione Granger was waiting primly in her room, the utilitarian style not dissimilar to another young sorcerer located miles from her London home, looking through her books one last time. Her trunk was packed, along with her schoolbooks. No the books she was looking at her secret stash, a number of fictional books that she hoped would give her some joy in the future. Hermione decided that, of all the books she currently had, none of them would keep her mind occupied on the journey to Hogwarts and decided she would do as she knew her parents would want her: make connections. She had read about a rather famous boy, Harry Potter, who was supposed to attend Hogwarts this year. She set her mind to becoming friends with him, and vowed that before the end of their time at Hogwarts, she'd have his commitment to helping her gain a position of power in the wizarding government. She had read about it, and knew that there was one thing she would do in that position, one thing that no one would ever find out.

She would have her parents removed from existence, for the hell they had put her through.

_**The Hogwarts Express**_

Harry Potter was bored again. This did not bode well for whoever disturbed him, as since he could not lash out physically or violently, he would have to settle for a verbal assault and, thanks to his excessive reading, he had quite the repertoire of insults which he could launch at the first unfortunate soul who ended up earning his ire. It was, perhaps, fate that the first person to find him was someone who was looking for him. It was not, as some would believe, Ron Weasley on the orders of his overbearing mother. No, Molly Weasley had received no suggestion from Dumbledore to search for Mr. Potter, and even if she had, she would have had Percy handle that. Ron, bless him, was not the gleaming example of wizards that his older brothers were, as far as Molly was concerned.

Some would have told Molly that she was blinding herself due to her strong desire for a daughter to dote on, which she received after Ron, but she would claim they were lying and go on to concentrate on Ron long enough for the accusation to fade away before returning to her daughter. This would spell ruin for not only Molly, but Ginny Weasley as well, for the greatest threat to anything, from governments down to relationships, does not come from forces outside, but from forces within.

No, the person who was unfortunate enough to be actively seeking Harry and find him before anyone else was Hermione Granger. Gladys Umbridge had done her no favors in forbidding her contact with other children outside of school, and in the prestigious primary school that the Grangers had sent Hermione to, there was little chance of making friends since many of the children there found Hermione's high intelligence and obedience to authority to be a tad obsessive, and since kids are bound to break rules, Hermione inadvertently became known as the one person you _didn't_ want as a friend, as she was likely to inform the nearest teacher. Thus, without a proper set of social skills, Hermione Granger made a few faux pas in her first meeting with Harry Potter, with whom first impressions were the only ones worth having as they told the truth of a person, or so he believed.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to be a bother, but are you Harry Potter?" Hermione asked, sitting down without waiting for an invitation.

Harry looked up from the book he was reading, _Serpents and Their Place in the Wizarding World_, and said, "What could possibly have given it away? The fact I look just like my father, or this thing?" Harry flicked his own forehead, touching the lightning bolt scar. "Perhaps, while you're answering, you could tell me your name and why you sat down without so much as invitation? It is not a sign of a civilized young woman to take a seat with a strange boy otherwise."

Hermione flushed slightly before controlling her embarrassment and said, "I apologize. I'm new to this world and I didn't know if the same rules of etiquette I learned in the Muggle world applied here."

"Lie," Harry said, meeting the girl's gaze. She flinched, and he smiled. "Well, I only thought it was a lie, but thank you for confirming it. Now, a name. Or get out."

"Hermione Granger," she replied quickly. "I-I'm sorry. I guess I just want to do well, and my parents expect me to do things the way they suggest. They'd want me to be friends with you, because of who you are."

"Do you want to be friends?"

"I-I would like that," Hermione said.

"Well, let's learn a bit about each other, see if we'll be a good fit," Harry said. He had quite a bit of information already, from observing the girl, but there was only so much observation could tell. He wanted to hear what she was like, at least in her own thoughts. "Ladies first, I insist."

"Alright," Hermione said, almost shyly, and felt a brief surge of victory. She had him! "I'm top of my class in Muggle school and I expect to be so in Hogwarts, too. I prefer studying to the type of socializing most kids do, and I like to learn about everything I can. I've gotten a bit of control over my magic, and can do some things wandlessly." Harry, for his part, was impressed with what he had heard so far. "I don't like that the wizarding world is so focused on bloodlines and tradition. I think equality is much more useful, especially when there's so many other races we could learn from out there if we let ourselves," Hermione continued, inadvertently getting on a soapbox and triggering a rush of irritation from Harry. He was _no one's_ equal, much less equal with other races. They might have power in their own right, but clearly witches and wizards were dominant above all else. "I'm hoping for Ravenclaw or Gryffindor as my House, because they seem to give the best options in later life. I'm hoping to hit politics once I leave school."

"Why do you want to be friends, since it seems you more than likely want political connections? Tell the truth," Harry said, unknowingly infusing his words with magic that compelled Hermione to do exactly as he had asked.

"My parents are horribly concerned with how they look to society and I'm just another commodity for them," Hermione said, her expression turning slightly ugly. "If I get a position in the Ministry, I might be able to have them _disappear_," she concluded, before slapping her hand over her mouth. Harry, for his part, thought the look suited her and vowed to make her look that way in the future as often as he could.

Harry laughed slightly and said, "While I applaud your desires, I have my own plans and I have no desire to become involved in Ministry politics beyond that which I require. Besides, if what I've seen about you is true, you'll not be in any leadership position," Harry said.

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione bristled. How dare he claim she wouldn't be good enough to be part of the Ministry, especially as a leader in it? What did he know about her that could make him believe that he knew she wouldn't fit in there? They had only just met, there was nothing that he could have gotten from her that would give him that truly mistaken impression.

Harry, it seemed, was only to happy to oblige in answering what Hermione believed to be a rhetorical question (as she believed he had no answer to it). "First, your manner of dress and what you've said about your family suggests that you come from a moderately wealthy family, you live in an upper class neighborhood, and you have probably attended one of the most prestigious primary schools in London. How am I doing so far?" Hermione nodded. "Gryffindor and Ravenclaw churn out the majority of Ministry leaders, as Hufflepuffs tend to become the average worker and Slytherins seem more likely to become members of the Wizengamot Court or otherwise work behind the scenes. Your preferred Houses mean you want to become a leader in the Ministry, rather than just a simple worker or a puppet behind the scenes. You have a moderate control of your magic, meaning your driven to become great to improve yourself. Your preference for schoolwork, if the callouses on your right hand fingers from where you've held a pen for hours at a time are any indication, suggests your excellent at taking notes. No, Hermione, you'll not be a leader in the Ministry. At best, you'll be a secretary or assistant to the Head of a Department. But a leader, with power to do what you want? No. Now, kindly leave. You've disturbed my studying long enough."

Hermione rose, her hand coming up, and Harry could sense the magic building. Allowing his own magic to flow freely, Harry stood and held his hands five inches apart in front of him, from which a swirl of fire flowed and formed into a ball. Moving his hands slightly further apart, the ball of fire expanded. "Go ahead, Granger," Harry said, his emerald eyes suddenly smoldering with a intense hatred, a hatred no one should feel for someone they just met, "strike out at me. I'll be fine, but you, well, I'm sure there are werewolves who want to know what barbecued Mudblood tastes like. It would be such a shame if you didn't show up at school with your schoolgirl outfit all picture perfect, along with that lovely white skin and perfect teeth you have."

Hermione had frozen as soon as Harry stood up and summoned his flames, and she knew, looking into his eyes, that he _would_ go through with the threat. She wouldn't be of much use to her parents, or to herself, scarred by burns or even actually suffering the fate that he suggested. She left the compartment quickly, and Harry dismissed his flames, and smiled. _Ah, peace, how I've missed thee._

He had no sooner thought these words than the door to the compartment entered. A redheaded boy with a bit of dirt on his nose stuck his head in and said, "Er, hi. I'm Ron Weasley. D'you mind if I sit down?"

Pleasantly surprised by this development (another boy with actual intelligence and manners, despite his rather uncouth manner of speaking), Harry nodded and gestured to the seat across from him. "Nice to meet you, Ron. I'm Harry Potter." Seeing the boy's eyes widen, Harry held a hand up. "Please, no hero-worship. I highly doubt that I had anything to do with Voldemort's defeat, but if I did, I don't remember how. Far as I'm concerned, I'm just one lucky bastard and I just want to learn how to have more control over my powers than I already have."

"You've got control of your magic?" Ron asked, looking interested. "How?"

"I learned early on I was different, I began working on making things happen on purpose instead of by accident," Harry explained. He told Ron about some of his better exploits, the ones that didn't end in bodily harm to others, and Ron exchanged some of his own stories, though mainly they were about how he wanted to prove himself better than his brothers. After the third such story, Harry said, "Instead of just talking about it, do it."

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked.

"First, all your family are in Gryffindor, but you have a clear ambition and desire to do things differently," Harry said. "So, why not try for another House, even Slytherin? Ignore any feuds that your family has. They're your family's feud, not yours. What do you have to do with feuds that might well be centuries old? Even ones which are only decades old have nothing to do with you, because you're not the one who began it."

Ron mulled it over rather than denying it outright. The truth was, he wanted to show his family; he wanted to show them that they were wrong about him. Not so much Bill and Charlie, they took time out when they were home to talk to him about their jobs and encourage him to find out his niche. Percy, rule-loving Percy, only ever lectured him about the proper way to do things and didn't care if it contradicted with how their mother taught the kids. Fred and George, well, they always took the mickey out of him and even targeted him specifically while never doing anything to Ginny because their mother was more furious whenever someone picked on her little princess, who was no bloody princess at all. If anything, Ginny was a little bottom-feeder who lived off the misery of her brothers, and Ron, despite his so-called friendship with her, despised his sister. "You're right," he said quietly. "I need to _show them_ who I am. I need to show them I'm _better than they are_. I can't do that in Gryffindor, and I can't do that by showing family loyalty. I'm going to Slytherin."

A small cough and a bit of clapping from the doorway drew the duo's attention to a platinum-haired boy standing in the doorway with a couple of Cro-Magnons as bodyguards. "Well said, Weasley," the boy said quietly. "You've just proven you're different already, and I for one will be hoping to see you at the SLytherin Table after the Sorting tonight." Turning to Harry, the boy said, "I'm Draco Malfoy, and this is Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle," gesturing to first the boy on the right then the left as he introduced them. "Potter, Right?" At Harry's nod, Draco said, "I wanted to congratulate and warn you Potter. First, good work with that bushy-haired motor mouth. She's been raging at one of the prefects up the train. Did you really threaten to set her on fire and feed her to werewolves?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that such an altercation took place," Harry said, a slow smirk on his face, "but if an altercation such as that did take place, it is entirely possible that she was the first to attempt to use her magic aggressively. Now, I guess the prefect's coming this way?"

"Indeed," Draco said, before glancing at Ron. "I think he's your brother, Weasley."

"Damn, Percy," Ron grumbled. "He's got a stick up his ass about rules and such. . . ."

Harry simply shrugged and waited for the inevitable confrontation. In the end, both Percy Weasley and a girl in blue-trimmed robes who also had a prefect's badge on her chest came to the compartment. Harry merely listened and nodded as the two lectured him about responsible uses of magic and to not threaten students. As they wound down, Harry said, "Out of curiosity, did Granger tell you what precipitated my own actions?" At the shake of their heads, Harry shook his own. "Perhaps I am mistaken," he said with a light tone but eyes of steel, "but isn't it the practice of those in authority to get all the facts before taking action, such as lecturing?" At this, both prefects flushed. "Granger wanted to be _friends_ with me in order to further her ambitions. Despite knowing about the magical world mere months, she already has her plans laid out to join the Ministry in a leadership position and bring about equality between the magical races. When I chose not to align myself with her, she got angry and attempted to attack me with her own control of wandless magic. I retaliated before she could get far enough. End of story."

Percy and the other girl seemed a bit embarrassed. "She didn't mention any of that," Percy said quietly, "but what's wrong with equality."

"I agree," the girl said. "I'm Penelope Clearwater, by the way. I'm a prefect for Ravenclaw. Sorry about. . ." she waved her hand, gesturing between her and Percy and back to Harry, who shrugged. He didn't care either way, but he didn't believe in showing a sign of weakness either. Besides, he'd spent most of the lecture imagining these two as being part of his collection of victims, though he had gotten more of a reponse from imagining Penelope than Percy.

Harry, in answer to their questions, said, "First, even if I were inclined to aid in politics at all, which I'm not, I wouldn't be inclined to support such a platform. Witches and wizards are the epitome of magical superiority."

"Damn right," Ron muttered, drawing attention to himself for the first time. Percy looked surprised that his brother was there, and stated as much. "What? You think I'd be sitting with Fred and George, who delight in using spiders to torture me, a fear I have thanks to them? Or that I'd be sitting with you when you can't even be bothered to act responsible despite your lectures?" Percy flinched back, but couldn't answer his brother back because everything Ron had said was true. Percy retreated along with Penelope, and Harry gave Ron a quiet nod. Ron responded in kind. Despite Harry's inner darkness, he had found a friend, perhaps because Ron himself had a darkness of his own, which would reveal itself as time went on.

Upon arrival at Hogwarts, the first years were guided across the lake to the castle by a giant of a man who called himself Hagrid. The man led them up the steps into the castle, where they were met by Professor McGonagall, who gave them all a stern lecture about the Houses of Hogwarts and the necessity of obeying the rules of Hogwarts. Soon afterward, they were led into the Great Hall, which was lit by dozens of floating candles along with the brackets of candles on the wall. Leading them up to the podium where the Staff Table rested, Professor McGonagall directed them to spread out along the podium. An ancient wizard's hat sat upon a stool, and as the first years settled, the hat opened its brim and sang. Harry found the song infuriating. The great mystery of the Sorting was a Hat that clearly had gone senile if it thought that singing poetry was a good opening for the school year. There was nothing mysterious or truly magical about the Hat and its singing, other than being a test on Harry's control of his powers. He wondered if any others felt the same, and likely would have been surprised to find out that yes, there were many.

With the song concluded, the Sorting began. The first Sorting of any interest for those reading was that of Hermione Granger, who sat primly on the stool and allowed the hat to poke around in her head. "Oh, you are frightfully intelligent, my dear," said the Hat. "You would be a good fit for Ravenclaw, but for your ambitions. You want to enter the Ministry and lead it to a new age of enlightenment, a worthwhile goal. You could be great, Ms. Granger, but Slytherin would never help you. If I placed you in that House, you would likely die in a tragic accident that none could prove was otherwise. But it takes more than ambition to gain a position of leadership in the Ministry of Magic, more than cunning. It takes bravery and the courage to stand by your convictions. You have this in spades, Ms. Granger, and for that you shall be a lion of GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione bounced off the stool, an excited grin on her face, her cheeks flushed pink with pleasure. She moved to her House table and struck up a conversation with her roommate, Lavender Brown, who was glad for another girl to talk to. The next Sorting of interest was, of course, Harry Potter.

"Hmm, you have an intriguing, and disturbing, mind, young Potter," said the Hat. Harry froze, and the Hat chuckled humorlessly. "Oh, I cannot reveal what I see, Mr. Potter, despite everything. The Founders did not desire for a child's secrets to be used against them, and enchanted me thus to ensure it could never happen. So despite the danger you represent to the school, I cannot give a clear warning. Now, let's see. . . . you're ambitious and cunning enough to avoid being punished for those things which you are responsible for. You would do well in Slytherin. What some would call bravery is in fact your recklessness and disregard for your own life, something which results in your need to give yourself a danger high, so Gryffindor is out as it is not for the thrill-seekers. You are only loyal to yourself, and what hard work you do is a by-product of your twisted mind, which rules out Hufflepuff. Ah, but your intelligence is your most important aspect, you strive for and crave knowledge above all else, even your ambitions and your need for a high from danger. Therefore, you belong to RAVENCLAW!"

The final Sorting of interest was of course Ron Weasley. "Ah, another Weasley, and yet one that is far different than the others," mused the Hat. "You have ambition and a desire to show the world who you are and what you can do, and you do not accept the path of a Gryffindor. Your heart is dark, Ronald Weasley. Darker than all but one I have seen tonight. It is clear that the Dark Lord has much to be blamed for despite his demise. Your ambition and burgeoning skill in cunning and deception leave you only one path to slither along, my young SLYTHERIN!"

_**Headmaster's Office**_

Later that night, Albus Dumbledore mused about the Sorting as he looked out over the grounds. The Sorting Hat had only been able to give vague warnings that some among the students were to be watched, but due to the enchantments of the Founders, could not reveal more. It was at times like these that Dumbledore cursed the Founders. How was he to save the souls of the children if he was not allowed to know what ailed them? He knew that for some, it would be arrogance, and for others, it would be the result of both ideological and biological inbreeding. For those who were like Bellatrix Lestrange, there would be little hope they could change, as evidenced by Bellatrix herself. For others, it was a simple matter of showing them a new path.

Dumbledore knew that some of the wizarding world believed him a fool for pushing for the redemption of Death Eaters during the War rather than incarceration, but then, not even incarceration had worked, so why had they not tried it his way? He knew from personal experience that a Dark wizard could be redeemed, and he was not speaking of Gellert, though that was another example. No, he was speaking of himself. As a young boy, he had befriended Gellert and the two had conspired to take control of not only the magical world, but the Muggle one as well. They would forge the two worlds into one, and with the Deathly Hallows at their command, master death itself. The dreams of children, children who like so many others of that age, were absorbed in their own greatness and believed themselves immortal on their own.

But Dumbledore had awakened to the cold, harsh reality when his sister Ariana had died, and he had worked since then to make up for those months of shameful desire, of domination of both worlds. He had, in his mind, redeemed himself. All of his positions were easily taken away from him should be show himself to be power-hungry, which was the only reason he had allowed himself to be put into those positions. Ministers of Magic had the influence and ability to ensure they were not removed from office, unless they screwed up so badly that even the magical world, full of sheep as it was, could see their blunder.

The roles Dumbledore held, on the other hand, did not have near as much influence as others would believe. As headmaster, he could influence the education of the students, but only if the Board of Governors approved of it; as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, a position awarded to him after Barty Crouch's son had been revealed as a Death Eater, he was easily removed from office by the Ministry; and as the Supreme Mugwump representing Great Britain in the International Confederation of Wizards (with the title being equal to the Muggle title of Ambassador) he served again at the will of the Ministry.

Dumbledore considered tonight's Sorting. Of the Sortings, three stood out. Minerva had told him of Hermione Granger, and he wished the young girl the best. She could quite possibly do what he, with his doubts about his ability to handle power, could not and could only push for in his role of Chief Warlock. Her placement in Gryffindor had suggested she had the courage to stand by her convictions and the bravery to move forward despite the doubts that were likely to nag at her mind as she continued on her journey in the wizarding world.

Harry Potter's Sorting into Ravenclaw had been a surprise, but a welcome one. From what Dumbledore had surmised from not only what Minerva had learned during her visit but also from the transcripts from Little Whinging Primary, Harry was nearly genius-level in intelligence but had the social skills to back it up, something few could claim. Dumbledore doubted that Harry would have any trouble getting through the little maze he had concocted for this year, a maze with a very specific prize at the end. This prize was meant to draw out Voldemort, who Dumbledore believed had not died that Halloween night, but had simply lost his powers and was biding his time. Dumbledore had put the maze together to both lure VOldemort into a sense of complacency, and to gauge Harry's abilities.

As for the final surprise Sorting, well, Albus Dumbledore felt that Molly Weasley was finally reaping what she had sown. He had known Molly long enough to know the woman was set in her opinions of her many children. As far as she was concerned, Bill and Charlie were successful if a bit foolish to have chosen their careers; Percy was her most sensible son as he planned to join the Ministry (much like Ms. Granger); the twins were going to end up in Azkaban for their continued antics, likely because they were caught trading illegal substances (Dumbledore wondered if this would end up being true); Ron was rather simple and unable to live on his own, and therefore would need a strong woman to be his wife, though if Ron's sorting was any indication, he intended to show his mother that she was being a fool; and finally, there was Molly's daughter, whom Dumbledore knew she doted on. He sincerely hoped the girl was not as bad as he suspected, otherwise the staff would need to have training in how to handle the fallout of the girl's antics. Well, no sense in worrying about that now; best to be concerned with that next year, when the girl came to Hogwarts.

_**A/N: Hope this new version suits the older readers' view, as well as gives a different perspective. As for newer readers, hope you enjoyed it all. **_

_**Next chapter: first week of classes, and the Potions classes for both Harry and Hermione. **_


	3. Chapter 3: The First Week

_**A/N: The main changes are in the Charms and History of Magic class sections, for those who are wondering, with a major change in Charms. As for Potions, the original chapter only had Harry's, whereas this will contain both Harry and Hermione's experiences. **_

Chapter Three:

The First Week

The dislike between Harry Potter and Hermione Granger became more and more prominent as the first week of classes began. Harry was clearly intelligent, and his teachers praised his skills in not only the theory but the few practical elements they practiced. Hermione Granger, on the other hand, was intending to prove she belonged at Hogwarts and was, in truth, making it clear to everyone but herself that she had no reason to be at Hogwarts other than being magical, as her people skills left much to be desired. A few examples had been their Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense lessons.

Arriving at Transfiguration, both Harry and Hermione were seated at one of the three front-row double-wide desks that the school used. Hermione had dragged Neville to the front with her, while Harry had made 'friends' with some of his dormmates including Terry Boot and Padma Patil. Padma was the one sitting next to Harry, and the boy could tell (from observing the twins) that they held no special bond as was often speculated. While Fred and George Weasley clearly did have one, as Ron had told him of their antics, the Patil twins could not have been more different. Where Padma was intelligent and thoughtful, prone more to discussing philosophical topics and historical events in detail, Parvati was gossipy, frivolous, and apparently got along well with Lavender Brown, another of the Gryffindor first years who had a bit more development then her fellows, though this seemed to be because she was more of an early bloomer.

Professor McGonagall greeted them by transforming from her Animagus form of a cat, arching an eyebrow when Harry did not seem startled while the other members of the class were at least impressed. "Do you see what I've done as something normal, Mr. Potter?" she asked.

"Well, I'm sure it's normal for you, Professor," Harry said, giving a smile to show he was not offending her. She did not acknowledge it, though there was a slight, nearly-imperceptible softening of her features. "I got a lot of extra reading and had read that you were one of the seven registered Animagi for this past century. I figured that was a pretty useful skill. Does it hurt?"

Seeing the interest from the class, Professor McGonagall felt it was wise to give them a brief overview. "Once you complete a full transformation, no, it does not hurt, Mr. Potter. There is a brief tingling sensation, much like when one of your limbs falls asleep, but it is very brief. During the transformative process, when you're learning to control the transformation by shifting various parts of your body, that is painful as your bones are rearranging and muscles shifting. Most who attempt the transformation stop before they get too far, unwilling to put up with the pain."

"Professor, I was wondering, how do we know that only seven people have completed the transformation?" Harry asked.

"The Ministry records and registers each person undergoing the process," McGonagall replied. "I believe it is more to ensure that individuals do not use their Animagus forms for untoward purposes than anything else." Harry frowned and nodded. "Something wrong, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "No, professor. Just figure things must be different in the magical world with crime and such."

"Meaning?"

"Well, in the Muggle world, if someone wants to do something or use something for an illegal purpose, they'll buy it or do it illegally regardless," Harry said. "I guess there's detection spells to keep people from trying this stuff on their own."

"There are none as far as adult witches and wizards are concerned," replied McGonagall carefully. "School age children, such as yourselves, are monitored to ensure you try nothing dangerous. Seventh years are given the option to explore Animagi transformations. But before any of you can get that sort of training, you have to learn the basics. Transfiguration is one of the more difficult subjects to learn, so pay attention, and be warned that I will allow no tom-foolery my classroom. If you muck about, you will no longer be a part of this curriculum."

The class went smoothly until near the end of class, when McGonagall went around the room, checking the students' work. She praised both Harry and Hermione's work, but she showed clear favoritism towards Harry. This caused Hermione a great deal of frustration, as she had always been at the top of her class and Muggle schooling. She blew past Harry and his friends on their way out of class.

Padma raised an eyebrow, and looked set to deliver a scathing remark, but Harry placed a on her shoulder. She looked at him, and he said, "She is only digging her own grave. She won't last long she keeps up the attitude."

Padma nodded and suggested that they get to their next class. Terry and Harry agreed, and they moved on to their next class.

The next class where Harry and Hermione's rivalry became clear again was in Charms class, where Professor Flitwick made a big show of their first term Charms work and what they could expect to learn. Hermione had attempted to show up Harry, but this had backfired on her when Harry showed the professor that he could wandlessly perform some of the Charms they would be taught. Flitwick was astounded and asked, "Have you levitated heavier objects, Mr. Potter? Perhaps yourself, or another person?"

Harry said, "I haven't tried it, but I can give it a shot." This, of course, was a lie, but a nasty little idea had snuck into his head and he decided on instinct to go through with it. He made a motion with his hand, and Hermione squeaked as she suddenly lifted into the air, looking over at Harry with wide eyes.

Professor Flitwick was awed, but said, "That's enough, Mr. Potter. Put her down."

Harry, acting as though Flitwick had startled him, dropped his hand and allowed his forehead to clear of wrinkles (as he had been frowning in concentration even if he didn't need to do so in reality). Hermione dropped like a stone, with a startled cry, and there was a sharp _crack_ as she landed awkwardly on one of her flailing legs. Harry, acting stricken, said, "Oh, God! I'm so sorry, Professor, I haven't concentrated on doing something like that before!"

Flitwick raised a hand, saying, "Calm down, Mr. Potter. Luckily, we're in a school of magic. Clear out the way, Ms. Patil, Ms. Brown." Hermione's dorm-mates moved aside as the professor moved forward, and the class could see the injury. The girl's lower leg had fractured, and white bone was visible, having punctured through her muscle and skin. Blood was slowly leaking out and staining her gray socks a crimson color. Several people turned green, and Harry ducked his head in shame. In reality, he was feeling triumphant and a rush of adrenaline. He'd gotten away with something bigger than just killing some animals! It was a better rush than he had had before.

Hermione spent the rest of the morning in the hospital wing, but was back at it in the afternoon, when their second History of Magic course took place. Their first History of Magic class would forever be burned into the minds of the students as the point where the Granger-Potter rivalry was shown to be about more than just grades.

History of Magic was, of course, the dullest class in the school, and most students kept busy (if they weren't sleeping) by doing homework for other classes. Harry did this as well, and it was unfortunately Hermione who decided to take notice. She hissed at him, "You should be focusing on the class, not something else!" The lessons from Governess Umbridge had left one important fact in Hermione's mind: do not do work from another class unless the teacher has allowed you to do so. As the entire period was supposed to be filled with the lecture of Professor Binns, there was no time in which to do homework for another class.

"I can learn History better from books in the library than an old ghost who repeats himself in every year, without fail," Harry said back. "Binns is useless, Granger, but you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? With your people skills and your ability to keep such dutiful notes, I'm sure you'll do just fine as a desk clerk that some Ministry official bangs on the sly."

Due to the actions of Governess Umbridge, Hermione Granger was a very calm and logical person, and if she had been in the proper mindset, would have recognized that Harry Potter was trying to goad her into an emotional response. But she had been trying all week to show that she had just as much to offer as him (more, in fact, because she was dedicated to her studies) but his insults all week had been needling at her. Before anyone realized what was happening, Hermione had flung a hand towards Harry, as though to slap him, but instead a wave of magic erupted from her hand struck the boy, sending him flying past two rows of students (across their desks, really) and crashing into the wall. A grunt of pain was all that was heard as the boy's head collided with the wall just prior to his passing out, and all that was left was the stunned silence that followed as the students looked between Hermione and Harry.

Hermione, for her part, was at once both smug and horrified that she had done what she had; smug because she had caught Harry by surprise despite his supposed status as a skilled magician, and horrified because she attacked another student for childish taunts. Her parents would be very disappointed, she knew, and they likely wouldn't believe her that the boy had deserved it. All they would care about was the possibility that she had forfeited any chance to get anywhere in this world, particularly in gaining a position within Department X.

The truth of why she had attacked Harry would never really been known. It was a subtle side of Harry's magic that if he wanted someone to react, they would; a mild form of the Imperius Curse, but untraceable and undetectable. The person would believe what they had done was of their own free will, and it was perhaps the most dangerous aspect of Harry Potter's magic, an aspect that none would be aware of until it was too late to stop him.

Of course, the biggest thing in Hermione's mind was when someone cleared their throat behind her, and she turned to see her stern-looking Head of House standing behind her. "Ms. Granger, come with me." Hermione lost 20 points from her House that day, and received three nights' detention to be served with Mr. Filch, who leered at her the entire time.

A day later, which was the day before the Charms Class in which Harry's revenge truly took place, Hermione Granger's ankle twisted, but as Harry Potter was walking ahead of her, with his back turned away from her, suspicion never fell upon him as his wandless skills were limited to known spells such as levitation and unlocking charms. He had shown no abilities in wandlessly casting Transfiguration or Defense spells.

Luckily, their second History of Magic class was not as exciting. Both Harry and Hermione avoided even looking at one another, and Hermione dared not comment on Harry's use of the class-time to catch up on other class work.

_**Friday Morning**_

Potions class was this morning, and Hermione was certain nothing could go wrong in this class. Firstly, the Gryffindors weren't paired with Ravenclaw which meant no snide comments or sarcastic remarks from Harry Potter. She had always been very good at chemistry, and couldn't wait for the Potions Master (who was supposed to be one of the best in the world, despite being so young) to see that. This was one class where Hermione _knew_ she could sign and maybe even out-do Harry 'I'm a God of Magic' Potter. She wanted so badly to show him that she was just as good as he was. He knew she had the same control of magic he had, and he was _going_ to recognize they could do more together than apart, and she was going to prove it to him, even if it was the last thing she did.

Entering the Potions class with Neville Longbottom at Professor Snape's directive of "Enter", Hermione took a seat at the very front of the class. She had befriended Neville primarily because he would also be in line for the headship of one of the influential and prestigious families in the wizarding world, which was the best she could hope for now that Potter had declined to help her, even if it was for the time being. The Slytherins filed in after the Gryffindors and took their own seats. Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy had partnered up and were sitting at the table to the left of Hermione and Neville.

Snape performed a roll call, and Hermione jerked slightly when she heard the name, 'Greengrass, Daphne'. Looking over at the SLytherin side of the room, Hermione took note of the other girl. Dark-haired with alabaster skin, Daphne was likely to be a knock-out when she finally matured; and Hermione had little doubt that Daphne was a relation to Adele. Having learned about the pureblood families from one of her books, and their tendency to think working with or around Muggles was a lowly calling, Hermione now knew what the rumors about Adele's family, that they disapproved of her becoming a governess, meant and could understand them a bit easier.

Snape looked around the room and gave a wonderful speech, ending with his hope that he would not be saddled with a bunch of dunderheads. Hermione straightened and knew this would be her chance, she knew the gait Snape was using. Her old chemistry teacher had had many of the same mannerisms, and he had always done this when he had been preparing for a verbal quiz.

Snape's attention was directed to the Slytherin side of the room, and he said, "Mr. Weasley, what would you get if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" At Weasley's negative reply, Snape said, "A pity, but let's try again. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" Another negative reply. "I do hope, Mr. Weasley, that third time's the charm for you. What is the different between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Another negative answer, and at this point, Hermione, who had been raising her hand since the first question, could hold her desire to answer back no longer.

"Please, sir, the answer to your first question is a power sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death, a bezoar is a stone found in the stomach of a goat that can save you from most poisons, while monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, also known as aconite in the Muggle world," Hermione said, the words rushing out of her and feeling rather pleased that she was able to say all of that in a way that could be understood. She prepared to shine as the star student of the class, but then she realized the Gryffindors were looking at her in shock and some trepidation, while the Slytherins had turned, with delighted smiles on their faces, to the class instructor.

Professor Snape's face had grown stormy. He glided over to Hermione and Neville's desk and said, "Tell me, Ms. Granger, in your schooling in the Muggle world, did you come across the term 'patience'?" Hermione nodded, looking uncertainly at the Potions Master. "Perhaps you should learn to exercise some. I was about to open the questions to the floor so that anyone who knew the answer could be called upon. Perhaps it has escaped your notice, Ms. Granger, but this is a school, where _all_ students come to learn and to answer questions, not just you. Your need to be seen for your supposed intelligence is overriding your common sense, and has lost Gryffindor two points. However, your answers were adequate. Mr. Weasley." The redhead looked startled at being addressed. "I require an essay on those topics, at least two feet of parchment in length, to make up for your abysmal knowledge. Do not, as Ms. Granger has done, practically quote from a textbook. I prefer to read a student's own words, so I know that they have grasped the knowledge." Hermione flushed again as Weasley nodded.

Later, as they neared the end of the class period, Neville's potion burned through his cauldron despite all of Hermione's whispered warnings. Snape swept over and directed Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas to take the whimpering boy to the hospital wing, though not before he disparaged the boy, calling him an idiot, and telling him to pay attention to the instructions written on the board. Hermione couldn't believe what she had seen, and all the warnings and admonitions of Governess Umbridge went out the window as she said, "Sir, you can't demean a student for making a mistake! If you thought he was doing something wrong you should have corrected him!"

The dungeon went silent as for the second time that day, Snape's expression turned stormy. "Ms. Granger, tell me, are able to control your impulses at all, or are you simply so certain of your own intellectual superiority that you feel the need to challenge anyone who does not conform to your ideal of what should be done in a classroom and _how_ it should be done? Potions is a much more turbulent art than Muggle chemistry, despite what you may believe. You are not the first Muggleborn to compare the subtle art to Muggle science, but it is far more volatile. One wrong ingredient can turn a simple boil cure potion into an explosive liquid, and if this is done when the cauldron is on the fire, no one in the immediate area is safe. We are lucky, as are you, Ms. Granger, that Mr. Longbottom has only burned through the cauldron rather than causing such an explosion, as you would be laid up in the hospital wing alongside him. Your challenge of authority at this school cannot go unpunished. Ten points from Gryffindor, Ms. Granger, and a detention to be served tomorrow afternoon with the caretaker, Mr. Filch. Meet him in the Entrance Hall promptly at 1:00 p.m."

Snape dismissed the class and watched them go, rubbing his temples. Oh, he sincerely hoped that the next batch of first years was not as bothersome or he would have to exercise all the patience in the world ot keep from murdering the little snots. Then he remembered his next class would contain Harry Potter, and found himself hoping, nay, praying that the boy had his mother's intellect and gift with Potions rather than his father's arrogance.

_**Friday Afternoon**_

Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were assigned Friday afternoons for Double Potions with Professor Snape. Harry had heard from others that Snape was oftenly overly harsh towards all non-Slytherin students, unwilling to see the potential they had, but he wondered how truthful these rumors could be. He doubted that a school would be foolish enough to keep a biased bastard on staff, but then again, the magical world didn't seem to have much in the way of accountability. Well, he would find out.

Entering the classroom at Snape's order, the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff double-period quickly took their seats and waited for their instructions. They had heard during lunch about the disastrous Gryffindor/Slytherin class. None of the Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs were eager to incur the wrath of an already angered Head of Slytherin, and thus stayed quiet, taking out their notebooks in preparation of having to write down the answers to questions one of their number was asked. Luckily, both Houses had been reading up during lunch after hearing even the merest rumor. The Hufflepuffs were hoping it would be enough, and the Ravenclaws were hoping they wouldn't be labeled as 'suck-ups'.

Snape glared down at them all, apparently his normal intimidation tactic if rumors at Hogwarts proved accurate (which so far, they had), and began. "There is very little foolish wand-waving in this class. As such, I doubt that many here will consider it to be a form of magic. Potions is one of the subtler arts of magic, and one can only truly grasp it when one can admire the subtle beauty of a slowly-bubbling cauldron, and can recognize that Potions allows you to brew glory, bottle fame, and even stopper death." Snape took a moment to survey the class again. "As neither House present has a great rivalry with the other, I do hope to _avoid_ the foolish, dunderhead nature of my previous class. Now, let's see where your knowledge is based. Mr. Potter. . . our new celebrity." Harry straightened. "You will receive no special treatment from me, Mr. Potter. Now tell me, what would you get if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry had practically memorized his Potions book, and it had mentioned this concoction in passing. Apparently the book was one that they would cover in a higher year. Still, it had merited a mention and thus, Harry knew the answer. "That's the Draught of Living Death, sir," Harry replied.

"And what does the Draught do, Mr. Potter?"

"Puts the one taking it into a state resembling a coma," Harry said, furrowing his brow.

"Indeed," Snape replied. "It appears, Mr. Potter, that you at least have skimmed your books. 1 point to Ravenclaw. Mr. Smith, what would you do if I asked you to get me a bezoar?"

"I'd look in the Potions cabinet," a blonde Hufflepuff said with a slight smirk, pointing at the cabinet in question. Snape's black eyes narrowed at the boy and he moved swiftly over. "What? You expect me to go out and get a fresh one like some kind of house-elf?"

"Mr. Potter, have you come across a bezoar in your readings?" Snape asked softly, not taking his eyes from Smith. At an affirmative answer, Snape continued, "Then perhaps you can enlighten Mr. Smith and the class as to where you would find it."

"In the stomach of a goat, sir," Harry replied. He had briefly entertained the idea of going into graphic detail about cutting a goat open and then cutting open the stomach, but he felt that would be pushing even his great luck.

Snape nodded in the affirmative and said, "Very good, Potter. It seems the Sorting Hat chose your House well. Final question, to the room: what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?" Harry and Padma Patil, whose family ran a Potions supply business chain, both raised their hands. Padma was called on, and she said, "There's no difference, sir. The plant is also known as aconite in the Muggle world."

"1 point to Ravenclaw," Snape replied. "As for you, Mr. Smith, neither your family's prestige nor your self-importance will earn you any points with me. Two points from Hufflepuff for your cheek, Mr. Smith. Now, your first Potion will be a simple boil cure, which needs to be restocked for our Hospital Wing. If anyone attempts to sabotage another's cauldron, you will find yourself in detention. The directions are on the board. Begin."

Snape waved his wand, and the class went about their work quietly, trying not to attract the Potions Master's ire. Even Smith, burning with humiliation, didn't dare try to make any comments or attempt to disrupt class. Snape, for his part, found himself watching Potter and noticing the exactness with which the boy prepared his Potions ingredients. The boy clearly had some expertise from preparing ingredients, though how he came across the expertise, he did not know. Still, he was glad the boy seemed to have more decorum than his horrid braggart of a father. No, the position of class buffoon appeared to go to Zacharias Smith of Hufflepuff. Snape would have smiled if he didn't think it would ruin his image, and considered the types of things he could do when he finally put Smith in detention.

_**Staff Room, Saturday Morning**_

Albus Dumbledore surveyed his teachers as they filed into the room, all looking somewhat tired, most likely from the early hour. Due to the weekend being the most common time for teenage hijinks, the staff had found that only an early morning meeting would allow them time to get through everything, as late night meetings threw off their internal clocks far too much. A simple booster potion, courtesy of Severus, would get everyone rejuvenated quickly in the mornings, mixed with their preferred drink. Of course, no one knew of that particular fact as Severus felt the other members of staff still distrusted him due to his rather sordid past as both a student and later as a Death Eater, before he turned spy for Dumbledore.

"Good morning, everyone," Dumbledore said quietly, drawing the attention of the room to himself. "Firstly, do we have any concerns about our returning students?"

"Only the usual antics of the Weasley twins," grumbled Argus Filch.

Severus cleared his throat and said, "I would ask again why we are lenient with the two of them, particularly as they target my house specifically. Need I remind the staff of the last pair of pranksters who were allowed freedom to prank Slytherin house, and what became of them?" There was little humor in Severus's face, and the staff who had been present during the years in question shifted slightly.

Dumbledore sighed, and said, "None of the Weasley twins' pranks have been particularly vicious, unlike those perpetrated by the Marauders, Severus. If they do, in fact, turn more vicious than I will handle their punishments personally. Until then, I will leave their punishments in the hands of Professor McGonagall. Any other concerns regarding our returning students?" There were no comments, and so Dumbledore said, "Then in that case, what is our impression of the new crop of first years?"

"There is a particularly gifted young Gryffindor who has caught our attention," Professor McGonagall replied. "However, she appears to have some, er, social issues."

"She is speaking of Hermione Granger," Snape said, seeing the confusion on some of the staff's faces, including Dumbledore's. As the confusion cleared up, Severus continued, "While she is very intelligent, she puts far too much stock in what is written and has come into constant conflict with not only her own House, but with other Houses as well. As I hear, she and Mr. Potter are often at each other's throats."

"I do hope this is not a repeat of James and Lily," McGonagall muttered, and Severus hid a flinch before Flitwick replied.

"I highly doubt it is," Filius said, brow furrowing. "Ms. Granger has shown herself to be rather. . . . unstable, when it comes to aspersions upon her prospects in the wizarding world. Mr. Potter has admittedly been crude in some of his comments towards her, but she deemed it necessary to take matters into her own hands. Minerva would know more about this topic."

The staff turned to the Deputy Headmistress, who said, "I was passing the History of Magic class, where the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw first years were having their first session, and heard a commotion. Going inside, I found Mr. Potter had been struck by a weak disarming spell from Ms. Granger. Not enough to disarm him, had he had his wand on his person rather than in his bag, but it threw him to the ground nonetheless. After sending Mr. Potter to the hospital wing, something he seemed reluctant to do, I questioned Ms. Granger. Mr. Potter has a remarkably mature attitude in some ways, but is more childish than he lets on. He suggested Ms. Granger's attitude and attention to note taking would land her a secretarial job at the Ministry, including being someone's 'shag on the sly'."

"Then it is understandable that Ms. Granger would react in a more violent manner," replied Dumbledore.

"Perhaps, but she did not seem unstable in any fashion when I accompanied her family to DIagon Alley. In truth, she seemed rather eager. The rumor mill suggests that she and Mr. Potter have had a conflict in every shared class they have had, and I know they had a short, but furious conflict within my own class. It was not distracting to the other students, but Ms. Granger seemed irritated that Mr. Potter's gift with magic has allowed him to reach the top tiers of the class."

Severus snorted and said, "I know the type. Ms. Granger attempted to answer every single question in my class, not allowing any others the possibility of answering. As you all know, I open each first year class with a spoken quiz to gauge where they are and how much I have to teach them. Ms. Granger, while intelligent, appears incapable of understanding this is a school for all the other children and not just her. She received points off, and later a detention when she attempted to claim I was at fault for the disaster of Mr. Longbottom's potion."

"You could lighten up a bit in your classes," McGonagall said, though the argument was half-hearted at best.

"As you well know, Minerva, I am forced to act like the 'greasy bat of the dungeons'," here, Severus's lips curled at the students' nickname for him, "during Gryffindor and Slytherin classes because of the rivalry between them. My snakes know that they act out, they will face my punishments later, and they are often harsher than what they would have received in class. I do not need to advertise this. It only takes a modicum of intelligence to realize that I would have been removed from my position years ago if I was as biased as the Gryffindor horde believes me to be. But as the primary antagonists since the end of the War have been your House. . . ." Minerva lowered her head, a look of shame flitting briefly across her features. Severus's own expression was carefully blank, though he did feel a bit of triumph at Minerva's acquiescence.

"My Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff class, on the other hand, was quite better," Severus said, drawing the attention of the Heads of those Houses. "Mr. Potter and Ms. Patil of Ravenclaw showed much appreciation for the art of Potions. Mr. Potter reminded me somewhat of his mother, though he was decidedly not as cheeky in his answers as she would have been. While I was prepared to face a clone of James Potter, I am pleased to find that despite his looks, the boy is very much his mother's son in terms of intelligence.

"Mr. Zacharias Smith, on the other hand," Severus continued, glancing at Professor Sprout, "must learn that neither his name nor his arrogance will earn a place of high position in my class. How that boy got into Hufflepuff when he is worse than James Potter or even Lucius Malfoy, I cannot grasp."

"I'll see what I can do," Sprout sighed. "Speaking of the Malfoys, I should tell you that Draco has been caught bullying younger students in both his own House and others, and blustered his way out of trouble. Or tried to, at least."

"Has he?" Severus asked, his tone light but his countenance darkening. Despite his close relationship with the Malfoys, Severus had found that young Draco had very little of his father's cunning at this age, though he hoped that would change as the boy got older.

"Is there anything else?" Albus asked tiredly.

The rest of the staff meeting was pretty much agreement that they would keep an eye on the Potter-Granger conflict and step in if needed.

_**A/N: Yep, the changes to this chapter surprised even myself. I stand by my stance for not having a Bastard Snape in this fic. For those new to the fic, I don't believe the wizarding world, as ass backwards as it can be, would actually let such a man continue in his position if he was as bad as he seems from a Gryffindor point of view. Now, some would say it's a combination of Lucius Malfoy and Dumbledore's influence, but even then, if there were enough complaints from students (and there surely would be if Snape was as bad to the other Houses as he is to the Gryffindors) that wouldn't stop him from being placed on probation. **_

_**I hope everyone likes the continued references to Gladys Umbridge, since she will play a role at one point. At least, that's what I'm planning. **_

_**Next chapter: Halloween, and Harry finds a new spell. **_


	4. Chapter 4: Halloween

_**A/N: The first two chapters of this fic have been completely re-written, and the third chapter revised to reflect those changes. This chapter includes elements that require reading the first two chapters in order to understand everything. I have already replaced the last three chapters with their new versions. **_

Chapter Four:

Halloween

The first two months of term passed rather quickly, in Harry's opinion, but in a way that was a good thing. Sitting in Ravenclaw Tower, secluded away in a semi-darkened corner that had long since become 'his', Harry was hunched over a small black diary that he had bought in Diagon Alley. An ever-expanding diary, it was to become his grimoire. He knew from his studies that the wizarding world had never had such things, they were more common among the Muggle 'witches', or Wiccans, who used the forces of nature to conduct magic. However, Harry had found there were several spells that were quite useless unless you really wanted to, say, transfigure an animal into a water goblet. For one, what if the animal turned back when you were taking a drink? What if the animal was a vicious alley cat or something? No, some spells were not useful, at least not to Harry.

If Harry had been a moral individual, he might have thought that the collection if spells in his little grimoire were rather. . . troubling. Each spell was accompanied by a use to which it could be used, almost always in a way of hurting someone tryig to injure you. Expelliarmus was considered, in the grimoire, to be a starter spell on those unprepared for the conflict, such as in an ambush. Otherwise, Harry's grimoire said, it was better to use a spell that would incapacitate the other fighter before disarming them. Even things like Wingardium Leviosa could be used, as well as the spell Flipendo. Do that at just the right angle in one of the halls of Hogwarts, and you could send your opponent crashing through a window to the outside or down the stairwells.

Harry had just found a new spell, searching in the library for something that would give Uncle Vernon a taste of his own medicine. He had, on occasion, tried to strangle Harry when angered only to be repelled by the boy's magic. Now, though, Harry knew he could control his magic, and wanted to find out if there were any spells that were _legal_. Funnily enough, the spell was a jinx that one could use on your friends, which suggested to Harry that he was not as alone in his mentality as he thought. It was oddly comforting, but also suggested that perhaps Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been correct in saying wizards were all crazy or psychos.

The spell, found in a book of jinxes that most fourth year students could be caught reading on occasion, was _Suffoco_, and caused a strangulation of the victim. It was a channeled spell, though, which meant one had to keep your wand focused on the other person until you were ready to let them go. Harry found it absolutely pathetic that such information was freely found, since one only had to hold such a jinx on a person for a little over two minutes to sufficiently end their life. Or rather, that was what Harry's anatomy books suggested, and if there was one thing he would count on Muggles for, it was their knowledge of human biology. Combine that with his spell knowledge, and he would show this world that he was to be as greatly feared as Lord Voldemort had been, if not moreso. . . . Where had _that_ thought come from? Harry shook his head and finished writing the information in his grimoire, which he locked with his own, wandless abilities, ensuring that no other student could access it without getting burned badly. Taking the diary up to the dormitory, Harry decided to take a walk around the castle, see if maybe he could find Smith, or better yet, Granger. Seeing either of them choke, even for a few seconds, would be endlessly amusing.

It was now nearing the end of October, and Harry was now aware that Halloween was the day when his parents had died and that he had become the Wizarding World's 'savior'. No doubt the masses expected their savior to either celebrate with them or to seclude himself away, to play the grieving son. Due to his distaste for the holiday of Halloween (a result of Muggle pollution of the holiday and the way the Dursleys had treated Dudley to every treat possible until Harry had gained control of his powers), Harry had chosen to do the latter. He would be informing Professor Flitwick in class the day of Halloween, preferring to suggest he was reluctant to do anything like skip a school function. Adults, Harry had found, were so easily manipulated if you acted the part of a child, eager to please and yet wanting to be independent.

Moving through the relatively deserted corridors of the school (it was currently the Sunday before Halloween, which was this coming Thursday, and thus many of the older students were 'enjoying themselves' in their House common rooms and broom closets), Harry kept his eyes peeled for his two primary irritants. Spotting one of them, Harry moved into a position where he was concealed within the corridor but had a rather good line of sight to the target. The target in question being Zacharias Smith; despite the level of irritation with Granger, Harry had found he perhaps disliked Smith even more simply because at least with Granger, there was a modicum of intelligence and cunning; not to mention when it came to the occasional fight between them, they were fairly evenly matched in terms of magic. Smith, on the other hand, was a half-wit who appeared to believe that his family (only loosely connected, through marriage at that, with Hepzibah Smith, the last known descendant of Helga Hufflepuff) was all but wizarding royalty. The boy appeared competent at regurgitating the facts spat at them by the teachers, but any fool could do that (well, unless you had too much inbreeding in your line ala the Crabbe and Goyle families).

Harry's wand slid into his hand and he moved it slightly to point at Zacharias. "_Suffoco_," he muttered, and watched as Smith stopped yammering to his audience, choking on his words. Harry enjoyed the sputtering, choking noise the boy made for a few moments before releasing him. Smith collapsed to his knees, gasping in great, deep breaths. Harry smiled and moved back along the corridor, unaware that a pair of shrewd black eyes had watched him. It was not, as some would think, the head of Slytherin House who had observed and found the cruelty of the Potter boy intriguing, but the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Quirinus Quirrell was a man of many talents, though he played the part of a stuttering, stammering fool best of all and used that to great affect in order to cast suspicion of any kind away from himself. Quirinus had been in the process of becoming a Death Eater ten years ago when the Dark Lord had fallen, and he had been forced to decide what path he was to take now. Becoming a teacher of Muggle Studies had allowed him a small income that could support him, but he had yearned for the Dark Arts job much as Severus had. He had taken a year off, but kept his ear to the ground and learned of Dumbledore's intent to secure the Sorcerer's Stone within the school. The man truly had gone senile, believing that Lord Voldemort had survived and that he would come for the Stone.

It appeared that the Potter boy had been effected more by that night almost ten years ago than even Dumbledore had thought, but perhaps this was a good thing. Potter clearly had designs to show the world who he was, and he likely wanted to keep his darkness a secret as long as possible. Quirrell decided he would keep an eye on the boy and his actions, and at the right time, use the boy to complete the task he had set for himself: Steal the Sorcerer's Stone and become immortal and endlessly wealthy. Never again would he want for anything, and more importantly, he would never again have to ask his aunt for aid. Dolores Umbridge was a bitch, pure and simple, and she took great pleasure in holding any aid back until the time was most opportune for her, when things with those she victimized were desolate. Among those she had victimized had been her own sister, Gladys, who last Quirrell had heard had taken a job in the Muggle world as a governess. If there was one thing the Umbridge sisters had in common, it was their hatred for children, and Quirrell felt an ounce of pity for whoever was unfortunate enough to have been given Gladys as their governess.

The following Thursday, they were finally getting the theory out of the way for the rest of the class regarding the levitation charm. After the _accident_ in their second class (the first class had primarily been an introduction to the course aims as well as establishing the ground rules of the classroom, much like a Muggle class would have), Professor Flitwick had decided it was a good idea to ensure that the class had a solid grounding in the theory of all charms they studied before they even attempted the charms themselves. They had done the work for the unlocking charm and a nifty color-changing charm that could be used on anything from clothes to one's hair, and had been working on the theory of the levitation charm for a while now. Harry had been able to give quite thorough answers, claiming he wanted to make sure nothing like what happened with Hermione occurred again when asked why he didn't have this grounding before. Hermione likewise gave thorough answers, and between the two of them, the class had a firm grounding in theory.

They were paired off, Harry becoming partners with Padma Patil while Hermione was paired with the Irish kid, Finnegan. Harry and Padma worked well together, but it appeared that the only person whom Hermione got along with in Gryffindor (other than her roommates) was Neville. The other boys did not get along with her at all, as evidenced by the imminent confrontation between Finnegan and Hermione. Finnegan had burned to a crisp three feathers, which caused Hermione no end of frustration.

After the fourth such occurrence, Hermione snapped, "First, it's Win-GAR-dium Levi-OH-sa, make the gar nice and long. Second, don't wave your wand about like that. It's a swish and a flick, not a horizontal circle!"

"Why don't you go on and show us how its done then?" Finnegan sneered.

Hermione simply gave the boy an irritated look and went on to prove the boy wrong. She won ten points for Gryffindor, and Harry could see a storm brewing behind Finnegan's eyes. As he prepared to go speak with the professor, he heard Finnegan say, "She's a nightmare, it's a bloody wonder she's even got any friends." Hermione brushed past Harry, and he was surprised (though somewhat gratified if he were honest with himself) to see tears glistening in her eyes. Neville Longbottom took a swing at Finnegan, surprising Harry as he didn't believe the boy had much of a spine. The Gryffindor girls (Brown, Parvati, and Vane, a girl who lived up to her name likely due to her rather prominent chin) took off after Hermione. Harry shook his head and waited for Professor Flitwick to finish lecturing the boys on fighting before dismissing them. Taking a moment to mentally prepare himself, Harry approached his Head of House.

"Professor Flitwick?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" the little man's eyebrows crinkled as he smiled at the boy.

"I wanted to tell you I won't be attending tonight's feast. I know it's a school function and I should attend, but tonight isn't one of celebration for me," Harry said, acting as though it was hard to keep his voice level and not let it waver. He had thought he would find it difficult to manipulate the people in this school, especially the adults, but so many of them were blinded to his true nature because they saw not Harry, but his parents. He knew this would not always be the case, but he would use it as often as he could without drawing suspicion.

"I understand, Harry," Flitwick said, breaking the normal protocol, a break that was only allowed simply because he was the Head of Ravenclaw and thus on a first-name basis with students from that House. "May I inquire as to your plans?"

"I might wander the castle, but more likely I'll stick to the library," Harry replied.

Harry went to his afternoon classes and, after they finished, headed for the library to keep reading and learning about magic. He had learned that some wizards had a gift for certain types of magic, even elemental magic, and he wondered if perhaps what he could do, his ability to channel fire through his body and create it by exciting the particles in the air, was being an elemental. If it was, it would be a most intriguing use of his talents, since admittedly his gift with wandless magic had begun with fire and it was also his most potent magic, though he could raise a rudimentary shield if needed. It was rudimentary because it would only stop one high powered spell, or a couple low-powered ones. He was still expanding his knowledge of shields and such, despite his preference for offensive tactics. He had come into conflict a couple of more times with Penelope Clearwater, and each time he had watched her walk away with a slightly arrogant strut and imagined again what she would look like, flayed open and dead on the ground. Perhaps next time he used the Suffocation Jinx, it would be on her.

Elsewhere in the castle, the Gryffindor girls had given up trying to get through to Hermione. For whatever reason, she was taking what Seamus had said far more personally and wasn't going to come out of the bathroom any time soon. Hermione sat in the stall of the bathroom she had found herself in, doing her best to control her weeping, but the fact was it had hurt to hear someone say what they had about her, if only because they had come so very close to the truth. She didn't have any friends, not _real friends_, because Gladys Umbridge had drummed it into her head that, because of her family's status, all that mattered was allies and perhaps a marriage to an influential family as well if one wanted to get anywhere. Hermione still yearned for friendship of the like she had had with Adele, and she wondered if maybe Adele would be interested in talking again. She decided she would send Adele a letter later on, once she had calmed down some. But for whatever reason, she couldn't stop crying. Why?

If Hermione had had more understanding of the power magic had on holidays such as Samhain, she would have realized that for those who became sorrowful on Samhain, it was very difficult to stop, and their misery often attracted the attention of those creatures best left to disturb only the other creatures of this world. So it was that, due to the actions of Quirinus Quirrell, a troll was now loose in the castle, making its way up from the dungeons and heading for the upper floors, where it sensed easy prey.

At the very moment that Quirrell was entering the Great Hall, Hermione was getting ready to head down herself and had picked up her bag. Exiting the stall, she wrinkled her nose as she smelt a most horrendous stench. Looking around, wondering if a toilet had clogged, she froze, her already pale skin losing what color it had as she stared, horrified, at the troll that stood in the doorway. A small scream, not very loud at all, escaped from her lips and the troll reached forward. She stumbled back, but too late, as the troll snatched her up and held her tight. She could breathe, but only barely. Definitely not enough to gain enough air to let out the shrill scream that she was sure would bring help running. The troll sniffed her, and she closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

The troll, however, did not appear to be hungry at the moment. Or perhaps it wished for more privacy, believing where they were was not the best place to take its meal. The troll lumbered out into the hallway, Hermione hanging in its hand, and as the entirety of the hallway became visible, complete with the portraits along the wall, Hermione spotted someone rounding the corner, and recognized them in an instant. After all, when one becomes wary of angering a particular individual, one's mind instinctively trains itself to recognize the threat.

For his part, Harry Potter was surprised as he rounded the corner (he was heading back to the Ravenclaw Tower) and found a massive troll taking up most of the hallway. Harry's sharp eyes zeroed in on Hermione Granger, looking frightened and pale in the troll's hand, and nearly smiled in delight. However, he took note of the portraits along the wall, and their empty frames, and cursed. No doubt the portraits had seen the troll holding the girl and gone to alert an adult. If not for this fact, and the fact that the girl was wide awake and had clearly seen him, Harry would have turned around and hoped that the troll escaped with its chosen victim. But alas, it was not to be, and thus he conjured a bit of fire in his hand and thrust the ball towards the troll, which landed a blow to the troll's face. The troll howled in pain, throwing Granger backward. She landed with a small _flump_ a few feet behind the troll, and stirred. Pity, she was alive.

Harry concentrated on the troll, however, as it lumbered towards him and aimed its club at Harry. Harry rolled away from the club, sending small balls of fire at the troll every chance he got, but it didn't seem to be enough, and he was tiring. He might well be athletic, but he hadn't had dinner and he had been walking most of the day already, leaving him little energy for a fight against a troll.

As Harry fought the troll, Hermione cleared her head and looked towards the fight in the hallway. She looked around, trying to figure out what she could do, if anything, to help. She looked up, and saw the ceiling of the castle corridor was beginning to show a crack from the occasional hit of the troll's club against it. Smiling, she pooled her magic into her hands, and fired it at the ceiling. The ceiling cracked further, loosening large chunks of the stone, and she used her magic to bring it crashing down. Harry had seen what she was doing and dived further down the hallway, out of the danger zone. The troll was struck by several of the stone chunks, and a pitiful groan escaped it. However this did not seem to slow the troll down, as it continued to lumber towards Harry.

Harry had, quite frankly, had enough of this bit of dung. He was a _wizard_, the mightiest form of magical being on the planet, and he would not be humbled or beaten by anything, whether it be a troll or a Muggle like his Uncle Vernon. Pointing his wand at the oncoming troll, Harry hissed, "_SUFFOCO!_" Neither Harry nor Hermione realized that his hissing had been just that, a hiss. Hermione was in shock that the cascading ceiling hadn't knocked the troll out, and Harry had on occasion talked with snakes and thus was used to the hiss of the language he sometimes slipped into.

The troll seemed to stagger, its eyes bugging out and it collapsed, gurgling, gulping sounds emanating from the large figure as Harry continued to control the flow of magic and bring the troll down. The troll's body finally gave a great shuddering gasp at the same time it collapsed forward, landing at Harry's feet. No breath escaped the large form, and both Harry and Hermione knew that the troll was dead.

_**A/N: I know this chapter is a bit shorter, but I wanted to put the aftermath of the troll incident in the next chapter. **_

_**Next chapter: The aftermath of Halloween with the staff and the two students. Harry learns what Parseltongue is. Quirrell begins the next stage of his plans. **_


End file.
